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Chapter Text

Bill’s hands were restless on his tie, adjusting and readjusting the knot. Tonight was important, he repeated it to himself as he adjusted in the mirror. Tonight is important, it is, it’s important. Tonight was his first formal event as Ryan Industries’ General Contractor, his first introduction into New York’s upper crust. His fingers left sweaty little grape-prints on the fabric of his tie. It was fine, he told himself, he needed to be going, the knot was fine. Mr. Ryan told him a cab would arrive for him at 7:45 and Bill was in the lobby of his apartment building by 7:32, pacing arythms across the tile. He caught his own eye in the glass of the door, appreciating the blue of his suit, running a hand through the gel in his hair, he has to be perfect, tonight is important. The night Bill met Andrew Ryan he was fixing his toilet, a plumber who Andrew must have seen something in. Bill remembers being stunned by him immediately. As Bill examines his reflection he wonders if his suit is the same blue as his coveralls.

The party is indulgent, held in Ryan Industry’s high class ballroom with caterers holding trays of sparkling wine and hor dourves. Bill scans the room of unfamiliar faces, people who looked important and filled their suits and gowns beautifully. Women in low cut jewel tones distract Bill as he reaches for a glass of wine. Then, luckily for him, Bill’s eyes settled on Andrew, found him standing in a group of chattering men and their nodding plus one’s. Andrew was the shortest of the men, his shoulders narrower but his chest puffed out with instinctive pride. It made him appear larger than he was. Bill headed towards him and received a clap on the shoulder when he took his place beside him. Andrew smiled in that way he did, perfect stainless teeth shifting the appearance of his jaw. It drew a twitch of muscle from his throat and he found himself grinning in response.

“Boys this is Bill McDonagh, my new general contractor.” He was introduced to a cast of people whose names Andrew rolled off like fluttering paper airplanes flying away from where they stood. The flippancy in his voice made Bill feel more important, he wasn’t given such treatment. The men nodded grateful and asked unimportant questions about Bill’s life and work and relationship to the company. They did not stick around long. When they left Andrew introduced him to the woman standing beside him, a woman younger than both of them, had to be in her waning twenties, Diane McClintock. Diane smiled like she had a cavity, clung onto Andrew’s elbow and asked if he needed,

“Another drink darling?” He nodded, allowing her to walk away towards the bar.

“How are you finding your night Bill?” He asked in a way that said he had other things he wanted to talk about, grander intentions sitting just on the back of his tongue.

“I feel a bit like a stuffed pig if I’m honest, first introduction to this side of town.” Andrew dashed past the statement.

“Bill, I have something I need to ask you.” He looked very intense, tunnel vision making Bill claustrophobic, he responded instinctively.

“Of course Mr. Ryan.”

“Tonight, after this function is over, will you join me in my office?”

“I will.” Andrew’s face was stone and magma, intention spilling over his cheekbones and gliding winding paths down his jaw. The gravity of his tone would have made Bill nervous were Andrew’s gaze not fixed out somewhere far beyond him.

“Wonderful.” He said, seeming to mean it, giving Bill a nod as if to say that’s all for now. Diane returned, the green of her dress making her eyes glow as she handed Andrew his drink, complained about how the bartender had treated her, rubbing his hand over hers as she had taken the glasses. Bill stood stunned for a minute as though he had stepped away from a street light, blinking in the blackness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He shook it off and suddenly Andrew was just another upper crust man talking to another upper crust gal, nodding at Diane’s teetering laugh.

Bill passed the time by conversing with some of those beautiful women, sipping at some gin the bartender poured from a bottle Bill had never seen before, readjusting his tie and hair in the bathroom mirror. Fitting in, he convinced himself through accent and a peeling callus on his left palm, he fits here. As people poured out of the ballroom, off to flats, or brownstones, or other parties entirely, Bill scanned the room for Andrew. He was missing. Bill had been in this building before, just once, and was not entirely certain of his ability to retrace his steps to Andrew’s office. He asked one of the caterers, who made a halfhearted guess under the guise of knowledge and gave Bill a weary smile. Bill stepped out into the hall, lost. Those who were leaving headed right towards the elevators and made drunken, raucous conversation waiting for the attendant to bring the elevator back up again. He turned left. There were golden letters on the doors: “Maintenance”, “Sullivan”, one was half scraped off leaving “Ow-- --de--on”. Finally, at the end of the hall, “Andrew Ryan”. Bill entered without knocking.

Andrew was standing at his desk, pouring over some papers stretched over it. A man with a holster on his hip was sitting beside the desk in an overstuffed leather chair, his gaze flicked up to Bill when he walked in. .

“Ah!” said Andrew, liquor having released the wrinkles from his brow. “Come in Bill come in,” he gestured to the man sitting, “this is Sullivan, my head of security, Sullivan this is Bill McDonagh, the contractor I told you of.” Bill walked closer, glancing at the upside-down papers on the desk. “Bill you’re a proud man.”

“My work should speak for itself on this matter.”

“That’s the kind of attitude I need Bill, proud, ambitious, motivated, you remind me of myself you know.” Bill, not quite seeing his reflection in his Rockwell jaw, nodded. “I need that attitude on my new project Bill. Walk into a hospital you see patients begging their care be free, at a gallery the censorship of any innovative artist, in D.C. the death of free business, every business must work for the state. What I am saying is that the world is getting redder Bill, and every change makes it impossible for men like you and I to stay here.” Andrew took a breath, closed his eyes for a second longer than a blink as if all of his plans were perfectly illustrated right behind his eyelids. When he opened his eyes he waved his wrist, beckoning Bill to come around the desk. Set on the desktop was a stack of pale blue papers, covered in architects renderings. Andrew slid into place beside Bill. His presence made him feel taller, as though he were towering over him as opposed to the shortest man in the room.The top paper showed a large skyscraper, hundreds of tiny windows dotting the sides while a great slab of metal stretched through the middle. It narrowed up and up into a peak, it was a beautiful design, the standout of any skyline. What confused Bill was the subterranean portion of the drawing. In lieu of a usual basement there were long, sturdy columns screwed into large round bases, anchoring the building as if it would drift into the sky without them. Bill gently framed the paper with his hands, smoothing the corners. He felt the acute pinpoints of eyes on his cheek, burning precancerous cells into his flesh from where Andrew was looking at him. Bill resisted the urge to look over at him, felt as though his body would drop to the floor just from eye contact. Sullivan’s hand reached over from where he was sitting, tapped the edge of the drawing.

“General Contractor you said?” His voice fitting the nature of his hand: round palms, large knuckles, nails bluntly trimmed. “The one below might help you get a better picture.” The paper below outlined the same building in pipes and vents, an airflow system that was abnormal. The infrastructure like Bill’s never seen before. He traced one of the pipes with his thumb, circling its route and not understanding its purpose, each room’s supply regulated and separate from the others.

“What do you need all this for?” He asked.

“Can’t you see Bill, it’s a refuge, a place without government. Where men with pride can work without restrictions, no one saying that we must bow to the will of g-d, or petty morality, or monarchs of the law or or- can’t you see it Bill! This is Rapture!” The word spilling with such reverence from Andrew’s mouth sent a hearty shiver down Bill’s spine. “I want you to help me make it real. An oasis under the sea where the world works without limitations.” He gives a deep breath again, like his lungs have never truly felt what it was like to breath uninhibited. “You will, won’t you.”

“Of course Mr. Ryan” an unsaid anything left a sweet aftertaste on his tongue. Andrew smiled and finally Bill felt comfortable looking up at his face again. The smile stretched his cheeks up into the light and the shifting planes of his face made Bill stare. Without turning away he tapped the paper beneath his hand, “let me get a better look at these.”

Chapter Text

Bill was given the office next to Andrew, between he and Sullivan. The remnants of half-scraped letters were removed and replaced with “Bill McDonagh”. It brought him a lot of pride, tittering little swirls in his stomach every time he stepped into the grand building, asked the elevator operator for the eighteenth floor please. He ran into Sullivan in the halls often. They would stop and chat between meetings and times when Bill would pour over blueprints, making tweaks and changes. His notes said “this will cause leaks”, “separate power source needed”, “can this be built on site” and each stroke of pen against paper caused him a minor thrill.

“Bill” Andrew said while looking over his work “I knew I made the right decision with you.” He would ask follow up questions that revealed a working man’s knowledge Bill had just assumed he was without. “Do you like to travel?” He asked one day, underlining Bill’s words with the nail of his pointer finger.

“I haven’t done it much.”

“Ever been to Iceland?”

“Iceland?”

“It’s Rapture’s home, or the jumping off point. I’m sure of it. You will come with me for the test.” These were the near-final tests, off in the cool waters Andrew envisioned the city’s final incarnation in.

“I will.” Andrew gave the slightest flash of a smile, just the quickest twitch of upturned lips, Bill imagined he would have been a very handsome young man, what would have been dimples turned into wrinkles with age. It suited him anyway. Andrew gave a very certain nod.

“Wonderful, I’ll have your plane ticket left on your desk and call a taxi for you at seven on thursday.” Bill knew it was his duty to turn and leave but he lingered, questions sitting themselves in the hollow below his adam’s apple: would you like to get lunch, how is Diane, you should let yourself leave work early, or even on time, just once in a while. Bill didn’t say anything though. Couldn’t bring himself to break professionalism, even for the slightest chance of friendship. Andrew had turned back to his work already, pen in hand. Bill watched his fingers draw loops and lines across the blueprints “t-h-i-s n-e-e-d-s r-e-d-e-s-i-g-n-i-n-g. C-o-n-t-a-c-t t-h-e W-a-l-e-s.” He turned his head, Andrew’s wrist, his arms, the slope of his shoulders, how they shifted as he wrote, finally the door. Bill left.

Sitting already in Bill’s office was a small parcel on his desk: itineraries, packing list, a plane ticket, a note that said “Bill McDonagh” in familiar loops and lines. Bill tucked the note into his desk drawer, examining the packing list. He needed to buy a nice coat, embarrassment of wearing the same threadbare coat he’d had since his move to the United States prickling up his legs. Not on this, his first international business trip.

“Oh lord,” He muttered to himself, tucking the plane ticket into the soft leather of his wallet. “How did you get yourself here Bill, wouldn’t your father be proud.” He knew he would be, he knew he was out of his depth, and he knew the water felt warm and inviting.

The first step into Delphine's, an upscale department store on the richer side of Manhattan, was difficult for Bill. He still felt like a plumber. His shoes were new and slid against the floor without friction. He made his way to the coat department, held his hand against thick wool and soft silk linings, cotton sometimes. He knew he wanted black, the only choice for a businessman one of the magazines he had picked up had told him, cut just above the knee, to be paired with a fine pair of slacks and ornate, but not flashy , dress shoes. He found one he liked with a deep purple lining. It was soft, and impossibly warm, and made his shoulders look like a proper general contractor, no working man with shoulders like these, trim and properly shaped. A woman, a store attendant, with a very lovely shade of lipstick on, came up to Bill.

“That’s a good choice.” She said “It’s very in style, but also classic.” She smiled, one of her canines tilted farther back than the rest of her teeth. “It looks nice on you.”

“Thank you” he said “I think I’m going to buy it.” He looked at her and smiled back. “Should I tell the cashier you helped me pick it, give you a good review.”

“Certainly won’t hurt.”

“Well I need your name to do so.” He shrugged the coat off his shoulders, looped it over his elbow.

“Elaine” she smiled “what should I call you?”

“Bill.”

“What do you need a coat like that for Bill?”

“A business trip to Iceland.” He thought about the plane ticket in his back pocket, its cool printed letters sending a chill up him. She chuckles softly, but doesn’t point out his shiver.

“Sounds like you’ll need it then.”

“I will.” He smiles at her again, something pleasant about her tugging at his forehead. “Show me to the cashier?”

“Gladly.” And off together they walked, Bill asked her for dinner once he was back. She agreed.

In the airport Andrew looked at home, looking out one of the windows by the boarding gate and smoking a strong smelling cigarette. His coat was black, just above his knees, his shoulders looked wider than possible for his small frame. It suited him like he was a model, irreplaceably good looking in it.

“Bill.” He flashed his teeth and Bill was happy he was almost immune to those brief smiles, if it was barely there it barely affected him. Longer smiles he still had to contend with, but this. This was comfortable.

“Mr. Ryan, how’s your morning?”

“Good,” they made small talk until they were on the plane, seated next to each other. Andrew held out a cigarette as the plane prepared to take off. Bill took it and leaned in like the beautiful women in the advertisements as Andrew held out a flame. He wondered why he hadn’t just offered the lighter. He wondered about that until the plane was cruising at some height the captain told everyone about over the intercom. Bill jiggled his leg. He hadn’t liked flying when he came to the U.S. and he didn’t like it now. Andrew sat stone beside him, flipping through some paperwork, writing notes in the corners. His handwriting as precise as everything else about him. He was a carefully produced man and Bill gave himself a moment to admire it. The dress shoes he wore, a polished brown with neatly tied laces, like they would be displayed in the store. No loop was bigger than the other, no aglet was fraying. His pants hit him at the perfect ankle length, a light gray against the exposed socks, patterned, blue and red. A double breasted jacket and a well dimpled tie, and that coat. His coat was wonderful, an emerald green lining shimmered as he shifted in his seat. It was lovely, and it hardly suited him. blue maybe, no purple, or something light, light green could work with those eyes of his.

Bill made himself look away, by that time his leg had stopped jiggling. He picked up the work he had himself brought on the plane. It was a distraction, but it worked. It would be more embarrassing to be seen not working then to be seen staring. Andrew was nothing if not a businessman. It lasted him the rest of the flight, he and Andrew smoking another cigarette together as the plane descended. Iceland was beautiful from above, all green and white and crinkled around the edges.

“Bill” Andrew said as they exited the jetway

“Mr. Ryan.”

“A drink with me.”

“Gladly sir.”

The bar was smokey and warm on the inside and they both removed their coats as they stepped through the door. There was a thrill to this whole trip, being so close to Andrew for so long. It tickled beneath the muscles of his biceps, up his throat, perching something that he couldn’t recognize on the back of his mouth, clinging brutal to his uvula. It made the drink go down easier.

“How do you enjoy working with Ryan Industries Bill?”

“I was a plumber before boss.” Andrew granted a, generous for him, laugh. A chuckling little noise that vibrated from the back of his throat and traveled up to his teeth. “Couldn’t ask for better, really Mr. Ryan I couldn’t.”

“Andrew.” He corrected, the first invitation into himself, it lodged itself into a special place in Bill’s ribs. It was a sensation he’d never felt before, wondered if anyone had. “I don’t know much about you Bill, personally at least.”

“Brought me to Iceland to gossip Andrew?”

“I brought you to Iceland to oversee the construction of a test habitation unit.”

“Coincidence then?” Andrew gives him a look as if to say cheeky .

“No girl for you Bill?”

“I’m getting dinner with a gal named Elaine when we get back.” He smiled to himself, thinking of her smile, and looked up at Andrew expecting him to have his own. It seemed as though he were not included in the mirth. “How is Diane?” They lapsed into comfortable conversation, Bill feeling contented in the knowledge that he and Andrew had grown slightly closer. Even the tiniest hint of proximity shifting the thing in his ribs, making itself known. In the tightness of the bar Bill was given access to Andrew in softer lighting. His cheekbones more gently sloped, his lips unchapped, stately nose, and his eyes, darker in the smoke filled room, focused on Bill. Really on him, not behind him, not on his plans, not on some future version of Bill which helped Andrew achieve his goals, but him. Simply. Andrew’s eyes on Bill, enough to make him shiver, cold, ice to the bone, but never uncomfortable.

Chapter Text

The tests began the next morning. Bill woke in a hotel room adjacent to Andrew’s, wall to wall. They met in the lobby, coats bundled around them, Andrew wore a stiff scarf up against his neck. It distorted his jawline in a way that still looked nice, made it more severe if anything. The tests took place on an abandoned dock about an hour out of the small town they were in. Bill was sent through the “test habitation unit”, a modified submarine with an oxygen recycling unit embedded onto the legs which attached it to the seafloor, to check for miscalculations and weaknesses. There was a vent that needed tightening and some tests to be run on the oxygen unit. As he stood inside the submarine he felt an overwhelming amount of pride, this thing he was building, it was real now. This thing Andrew had dreamt was now intertwined with portions of him.

“Ready to run.” Bill asserted. The test began with a slow whirring as the unit was lowered into the water and was screwed onto the bases. There were video cameras, aimed at the vents and machines ticking and chiming away in the sub. It couldn’t be heard on the surface and the all consuming silence left Bill, Andrew, and various other scientists tapping their feet and pens. They sat around for an hour. Bill turned to Andrew at this point.

“The capsule is going to be submerged for almost another full day Mr. Ryan, grab lunch with me?” He nodded, his gaze not leaving the ocean surface which lapped against the dock in a steady, organic rhythm. He sat until Bill cleared his throat and then he shot up, adjusting his scarf.

At lunch Andrew picked half heartedly at the sandwich in front of him. They ate about a twenty minute walk from the dock, on an old picnic table away from a table of chattering scientists.

“I can feel it Bill, this is going to be successful. Rapture is inevitable and we’ve done it.” He shifted his gaze to Bill, scorching into his corneas. It left an afterimage when he blinked, Andrew’s eyes on the backside of his, imprinted there. Bill took a bite of his sandwich. “This is the future of mankind, no more war or controlled markets, while they all burn up here in their monarchies and communist dictatorships, we won’t just be changing the world Bill, we’re creating a new one.”

“It’s going to be great Mr. Ryan.” Andrew broke into a full faced smile. His jaw was forced deeper into his scarf, his eyes glittering with the effort of his facial muscles. It almost knocked Bill of his chair, made him touch his hat to ensure that the sheer physical nature of Andrew’s smile hadn’t blown it clean off. Bill smiled back, bashfully, couldn’t help it. Andrew forced these things out of him, made him feel like he found a way to stare at the sun without pain. Like his comment had infallibly ensured Rapture’s success. Bill felt in his moment that Andrew, every shining bit of his being, was remarkable.

“Right you are Bill, you are so right.”

The sun set and the sky turned black and the team went through a night without sleep. Andrew, as the night went dark and the waves were no longer visible, wrapped his coat tighter around himself and went into the trailer brought for when the night got too cold. Bill joined him. There were cushy chairs, obviously meant for napping scientists, and a table. Andrew ignored the chairs, flicking on the lamp on the table and taking a seat at it. Bill went to sit in one of the chairs but was interrupted by Andrew speaking his name.

“Yes Mr. Ryan” he said, abandoning his search for comfort and sitting at the table.

“I’m compiling a list of people to invite to Rapture first. The best of our time Bill, the top scientists, artists, men of industry. I’d like you to pitch in.” Bill, lacking the social circle of elites that Andrew held, responded by asking questions he believed may help the process: how many slots are there? what types of labor are we missing? Will they be given plus ones for their families? who can afford this venture? Andrew seemed to genuinely appreciate his input, his focus on the topic glowing out of him, piercing the sleep of the few scientists scattered in the chairs about the room. Bill believed he made anyone a greater man just by being around them. His work ethic gleaming onto them. It tittered against Bill’s ribs.

Bill faced the new dawn with heavy circles under his eyes, sleep teasing the back sides of his eyelids with every blink. Andrew looked fine, the same. His eyes were alert and scanning the surface of the newly revealed water for any reactions from his habitation unit. The sea was calm this morning. It barely seemed to acknowledge the important contraption set inside it.

After more painful hours of waiting the unit was unscrewed and drawn to the surface. The door was opened and the scientists rushed in to examine the long sheets of data the machines inside had produced: oxygen levels, pressure levels, temperature, anything that could be studied. There was a small, barely there, puddle below one of the vents. Bill turned to Andrew when he saw it.

“Gotta change metals for the airflow system, even internally, can’t have it corroding the tiniest bit. That puddle’s just a bit of piss in the pot compared to what it’d do over time from the condensation.” He pointed at the wetted sheen on some of the exposed piping. Andrew nodded, writing it on a list of observations that his hand was flying-writing on the paper.

“Very good Bill.”

With the tests done and the data being compiled into readable formats Bill and Andrew were flown back to New York to await the results. This test was the final small scale test, a whole building next, Rapture was on her way. Their first night back Bill rang Elaine.

“Hello?” She answered, voice light over the phone.

“Hello Elaine it’s Bill.”

“Hello Bill! How’d Iceland treat you?”

“Couldn’t ‘f been better. How’d you like to get that dinner with me tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about it?”

“Sounds wonderful to me!”

“Great.”

A portion of Bill’s job, now that he was back in New York, was discovering people to be invited as a part of the first wave of Rapture’s citizens. He picked up newspapers and magazines of all sorts, looking for up and coming geniuses, people who were successful but just hadn’t found their breakthrough yet. That’s what Andrew wanted, great men, on the front line of industry. He had a legal pad where he wrote names, would call them up to ask them for an interview and would send someone more qualified than himself to suss out the worth of the people he’d found. The first artist he’d suggested was a bust, communist, the interviewer muttered upon his return and Bill struck a neat line through the name on his list. His did this for hours, checking and rechecking any information he had on people. Rapture had to be perfect, he knew this. By the time he looked at the clock it was past time to meet Elaine for dinner. He rushed into the lobby, giving Sullivan a wave as he blew past him in the hallway. He would have usually stopped and spoken to him. He hoped it didn’t seem rude. He hailed a cab and was at the restaurant only eleven minutes later than he had promised, Elaine was sitting at a table already, fidgeting with a delicate watch on her wrist. Her head jolted up as Bill neared, giving him a smile as he approached.

They greeted each other with comfort and happiness, some calm thing settling over the two of them. It seemed like the eleven minutes hadn’t mattered. They ordered cocktails and entrees and talked through the whole thing. Elaine had just graduated college, was looking for a position that would support her through the rest of her life, she’d studied history and had considered pursuing a career in a law office. Bill told her about London when she’d asked about his accent and he told her his work was in contracting but the project was sadly secret. She’d given a small laugh and said he must be mighty important.

“Something like that” Bill responded. At the end of their night, after sharing a piece of tiramisu, Bill bid her adieu after calling her a cab. They promised to see each other again and Bill decided to make her a part of his life. The thing in his rib twitched, just making itself known again, and Bill near but winced. It was always too much for him.

When Bill arrived in his lobby the doorman stopped him and handed him a piece of paper. It was folded over on itself and Bill thanked the man. In his room he unfolded the paper. In unfamiliar handwriting was written: Construction starts this week, Bill and Bill’s whole body shivered Meet me in my office tomorrow -Andrew Ryan.

Chapter Text

The office was the same as the first time Bill had heard of Rapture, down to Sullivan sitting in a chair beside Andrew’s desk. Andrew smiled at him, twisting the thing in his ribs and making him straighten his back. He strode forward with as much confidence as he could muster, it was something, some break against the tide of Andrew’s teeth.

“Hiya Mr. Ryan, Sullivan”

“Bill,” Andrew responded, his grin as wide as the world “I have photos for you to see.” He slid them across the desk. The top photo of a skyscraper, peeking up barely outside of the waves, still in construction. The second of a room, large glass windows revealing the sea life outside, a deep green carpet lining the floor. There were more, over a dozen photos, of construction and completed buildings and ships tugging great arms and bases behind them. The final one was a lighthouse, sitting above a mound of rock, sending great beams out over the sea. He held this photo up to Andrew, questioning its place in the pile.

“Oh that! That is our entrance Bill, our front door to rapture. She has to be remote you see, and this way it is unassuming. You are shipped to the lighthouse and brought into the comfort of Rapture from there. You’ll see it soon Bill, I’d like to relocate Ryan Industries to Rapture within the month.” Sullivan had moved from his chair over to a table against the wall of the room. “It’s imperative that we be there to organize the first wave, to ensure that setup is seamless. We just need to complete Rapture’s final stages internally. You’re willing to transfer?”

“I am.” He was astounded by how the answer just rolled out of his tongue, slipped loose from the back of his throat without his control. “May I bring someone with me?” Andrew looked surprised at the question.

“Yes, Bill. We leave on the 28th.” Sullivan raised a glass up to Bill, a tumbler of scotch in each of his hands. “Wonderful idea Sullivan.” Andrew commended, walking over to the table to fill a glass of his own. Bill watched the lines of his body as they moved, his waist tucking in on itself, his shoulders slimming as they bent to pour and widening out as he moved to stand up straight. The strong column of his body stock still for a moment, stretched out against the backdrop of his office. It was intimidating to look at him. He turned about on his heel, giving his jaw a bumped little nod as he did so. He held up his glass.

“A toast.”

“A toast.” Repeated Sullivan

“A toast to Rapture. Our futures, the future of the globe. We are not just making history boys, we are making a new world.”

Bill and Elaine sat on their fourth date and Bill could sense she saw something simmering beneath his skin. She was smart. He adored this about her, her smarts, her jaw, the way she prodded at a subject without being tactless. He knew she had a place in his life, a permanent one. He just needed to work up the nerve.

“What’s eating you Bill?” She asked, tapping her fingers on the scone in front of her, breaking off a small chunk.

“I have something very serious to ask you.” Her eyebrows arched. “It involves my work, I’m moving for it. To Iceland.”

“Iceland?”

“Yes, the project I’m heading,” He stopped, he couldn’t possibly begin to explain to her here, with so little tangible to convince her. “Let me show you, will you accompany me to my flat for a minute?”

“Oh, sure.” Bill got up that second and went to the counter of the coffee shop, asking for a small bag and returning to pack away Elaine’s scone. He placed a few bills on the table, held his elbow out for Elaine. She took it, gently resting her fingertips in the crook of his arm. It warmed him immensely, filled him with some rush, concreted his decision. He hailed a cab. Their knees bumped together on the trip, knocking bone against bone. He held the door open for Elaine, nodded to the doorman, and tipped the elevator operator after they reached his floor. He took her right to his study, where the blueprints for the initial buildings had been double checked and checked again and he was left trusted with the worthless first drafts.

“So this,” He turned to explain, breath frantic in his lungs, pushing brutal little rhythms against the thing in his ribs. “Rapture,” it sounded different, he realized, coming out of his mouth. Less grand. “An underwater city, it works, I’ve tested the construction myself. I need to be there to help the first wave of citizens. I want you to come with me.”

Elaine’s eyes darted half-looking around the blueprints, a few of the photographs, at Bill’s face. Her mouth opened and then closed again, thoughts spilling over her face in limp little rays, confused and surprised. She didn’t know what to say. Bill adjusted the cuffs of his shirt with his sweaty fingers, leaving damp little imprints behind his touch. He didn’t dare say anything, would never break the chance that she might say yes. He could never forgive himself if he had messed this up. He knew he didn’t have the intensity that Andrew did, but he’d promised him they were similar enough right? Shouldn’t at least half of him be enough for Bill to make this work.

“Well, goodness Bill this is quite the adventure you’re offering me. I. I suppose I can’t say no, can I?” Bill shot forward, taking a hand in his.

“Elaine you’ve made me the happiest plumber in all of New York.”

“Iceland,” she corrected “You’ll be the happiest plumber in Iceland.”

Elaine wore a deep purple coat to the airport, a thick wool with a matching silk scarf. Bill adjusted the ends of the scarf as they got out of the cab. She already looked lovely. Bill was simply nervous, his gal meeting Mr. Ryan. He knew he’d told her plenty about him, and debriefed her of his demeanor on the ride over. You’ll like Diane, he assured

“It’ll be fine.” She patted his arm as he went to pick up the suitcases, felt strange to pick up his whole world into two cold hands. Andrew stood beside Sullivan at the gate, the two of them smoking and conversing. They looked like cutouts from a magazine. Bill took a moment just to watch, trying to find a way he belonged in this scene. Elaine nudged him along, “he looks just like you described.” When they were close enough Andrew and Sullivan looked up at them. Elaine gave a dignified wave. Sullivan reached out a hand for her.

“This is Sullivan,” Bill introduced “head of security.”

“Elaine Williams, pleasure.” She then turned to Andrew and Bill smiled, something jittery, the smallest twinge of nerves clacking against his ribs.

“I’m sure you can guess who this is.” Bill went to form the letters of his name on his tongue, they lingered gently as Andrew interrupted, and they evaporated sweetly.

“Andrew Ryan,” and Bill was lucky enough to sit between the two of them on the plane. Andrew handed Elaine a cigarette and a lighter. He forgot to ask where Diane was.

The next morning Bill, Sullivan, and Andrew gathered on the dock, waiting for the boat to arrive. This boat was to take them to the lighthouse, the bridge to Rapture. Bill’s fingers were fidgeting in his pocket. He was restless on the verge of beginnings, he had been inside these buildings, through the photographs and the blueprints, but now they were going to be more than the sum of their parts. Andrew noticed the boat before any of the others, alerting them with a gentle swing of his jaw. His gaze out across the ocean made Bill look away from him, it was too hard to see his intensity. Sullivan offered Bill some small talk as a distraction. He appreciated it greatly.

The lighthouse was a gorgeous thing, octagonal and towering above the crashing waves. Five stories of gorgeous stone, it withstood the whipping winds of the Atlantic. Steps descended into the water, beautifully lit by ornate torches. The lighthouse was topped with a great beacon, held between two crescent wings of a great figure. Bill stood at the base of the tower, stepping onto the strong stone steps. He looked up above him, feeling simultaneously the least important man on earth and part of the grandest venture humanity had ever undertaken. The war was nothing in the face of this new creation. Andrew let out a proud hum and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The foyer gleamed with light, gorgeous golden walls and shining lamps set against them. Bill knew it was incomplete, the room was vast without anything to fill it and the walls, while impressive, lacked decoration. Staircases stretch down either side of the room and the three mens’ shoe steps resound with polished clacks against the floor. Andrew wasn’t quite grinning, some proud intensity tucked right behind the hollows of his cheeks. It was an immensely good look on him. Sullivan and Bill lingered by the doorway, watching the moment, it rang momentous, as Andrew made his way around the room.

“Come on.” Andrew said. “There’s much more to see than this.” They descended the staircase and the way he said it took Bill’s breath away.

There was a private bathysphere docked there, fat water droplets falling down its curved sides. Bill reached out to touch it as the doorway arched above them. Andrew gave a barely audible chuckle. Together they entered the bathysphere, Sullivan opening his jaw to pop his ears against the pressure as it began to descend. The bathysphere, piloting its own way through the ocean, revealed a gorgeous set of ridges and creatures. There were jellyfish, scattering crabs, flashing neon fish darting in and out of view, Bill couldn’t look away. The craft crested a ridge and there, an incomplete skyline of tubes and buildings, was Rapture. The first building Bill had seen in print was the building he first saw, defining the Rapture, well not quite skyline. He counted each of the windows, traced his eye on that grand swath of metal, scanned ever centimeter of the building up to its narrow tip, Bill all but died in his spot. He felt on his rightmost cheek a chill, like an ice cube melting on his flesh. As he acknowledged it it became liquid, sliding down his neck across the shoulders of his coat, wrapping around his wrist. He knew Andrew was watching for his reaction. Bill opened his mouth to say something but words eluded him, scraped the backs of his teeth but came no further. He closed it again, hoped the action was enough to satisfy Andrew. The skyline encroached further and further until it took up the entirety of their vision. Then the bathysphere docked, giving a slight rattle to the men inside

And they were there, feet firmly planted in their new world, a world they designed. Bill finally turned to Andrew, allowing him the chance to take the first step.

Chapter Text

Watching Andrew’s first steps into Rapture, how his shoes tapped beautifully on the floor of the bathysphere station. A lovely little beat, Bill hoped to memorise it. Sullivan exited next, turning his head to examine the walls and ceilings and great windows. The view from even this portion of Rapture was stunning, surrounded by wildlife as though Rapture were just another reef or vent for them to crawl around. There was a starfish stuck to the window, it’s little suckers adjusting on the glass. Bill was immediately charmed by it. He walked into the station, following up into the lounge area of the welcome center.

“You both have offices, and apartments,” Andrew told them, rubbing a hand over the fabric of one of the seats. “But I wanted you to see Rapture as every new Citizen will.”

“A triumph sir” Sullivan clapped Bill on the shoulder as he walked past him.

“Sullivan’s right, better than any photograph or blueprint could look.” Andrew gave a nod of pride, he was settled into the scenery of Rapture as naturally as the starfish on the window and the well chosen furniture in the lounge. He ushered them through Rapture, through restaurants and board rooms and art spaces, theatres and galleries, even a few storefronts ready for businesses who had signed on to the Rapture dream. He showed them the apartments, upscale and clustered together with other neighbors assigned or open for rent. Lastly their offices, Sullivan’s was closer up Rapture’s skyline, sitting in a security office with a view. But Bill, his was set in the pulsing heart of Rapture. Magma made Hephestus the warmest portion and it was comfortable and the breeze that carried when doors were opened was a lovely break from the warmth. It was a near replica of his New York office, with a similar desk and chair that made Bill appreciate it as a second home already. There was a beautiful window though, and the chair swiveled so that at any time Bill could admire the deep of the ocean.

Andrew’s office was framed by a grand entrance, thick columns running up the walkway. The actual office was beautifully staged. There was a desk, a chair, some filing cabinets. It was dark and cozy, the kind of place you could turn on a lamp and spend hours. A great wall of glass stood looking out further into Rapture as opposed to the ocean. Bill tapped his fingers on the desk, a good hard wood. Andrew smiled at him, something small that Bill knew he wasn’t supposed to see. It flushed him warm all over. Suddenly the office, once warm, was chilling Bill in the delicate strips between his ribs, through his coat. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Couldn’t want for a better office Mr. Ryan.”

"Andrew,” it twisted itself in Bill. “You are invaluable to Rapture, Bill. I hope you will remain so. Rapture needs order, logic to lead her. Not in policy and ethics, but through the transition. I’m establishing a council and I would like you to be the first man on it.”

“Of course Andrew.” The name sat itself gorgeous in the air, gleaming like a private thing. Andrew’s smile was just the same.

Elaine cored into Bill the moment he stepped off the boat from their initial visit to Rapture. She tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and asked him how it went, how did it look, was there a view from their apartment. Bill smiled at her, told her everything he knew.

“It’s like nothing you’ve seen before, you’re going to cry when you see it Elaine.”

“Did you?” She laughed

“Just about, but a man’s got to keep his composure around his mates.”

“I’m sure you did darling. Now tell me about that view.”

“All kinds of fish, flashy little things darting around, saw a shark too.”

“A shark!”

“Not like it can break through the glass, don’t you worry.” Elaine slept deep that night, likely dreaming of darting fish and rows and rows of harmless sharks teeth. It excited her, all of it. Bill couldn’t bring his eyes to close, he and Andrew’s world his home tomorrow. How could he rest until he was resting in Rapture?

Luckily it was not a long wait, the next morning he and Elaine packed up all of their belongings they’d strewn about the hotel room checking and double checking that nothing was left. Toothbrushes, spare socks, Elaine’s best necklace gently fastened on the back of her neck, cool silver sending a chill down her spine when Bill got it clasped. There were considerably more people on the boat on this trip. The Wale’s, the architects in the first place, some of Sullivan’s security staff, Bill’s colleagues in contracting: Kyburz, Pablo Navarro. Andrew was unaccompanied. He explained to Bill that Diane would be joining them with the first wave of citizens, she’d be coming with some important persons he needed for his speech on opening day.

“Who Mr. Ryan?”

“Some musicians who’ve composed Rapture’s anthem, a few founding business people and investors, not quite essential to Rapture’s founding but to her vision.” Bill nodded and was greeted with a thrill at being named de facto essential.

“Your speech’ll be a hit surely.”

“I’d like you to be on stage for it.”

“Pardon?”

“You helped build Rapture, Bill. I want your work to be visible. You’ll be on stage?”

“I will.”

“Wonderful.” Bill wondered what it would be like to have that directed at him, without the words as proxy.

Elaine was delighted by all of it, the lighthouse, the view, the apartment, it made her near giddy. As she was hanging her dresses in the closet she danced about the rooms, throwing the curtains open to look out at the ocean.

“Bill,” she asked at dinner “do you think I could get a job in a law firm down here? Filing even.”

“In Rapture? You could be a lawyer, partner if you like.” She gave him a smile, her crooked tooth peaking out from behind her gums. It made Bill smile back at her.

“Well cheers to that” She raised her glass to clink against his

“And cheers to Rapture.”

“And cheers to Rapture- You and Andrew too. All of it!” She laughed, joyful. Rapture was the future unspooled in front of them. It was going to be great.

Chapter Text

The stage for Andrew’s speech was beautifully set, deep red backdrop and framed by some of Rapture’s most influential founders. Bill was sat on the left side of the stage, next to the Wale’s, some businessmen, and Sullivan. On the right side was a microphone to accompany the musicians: Anna Culpepper, who wore a deep blue dress and was constantly at war with its slipping shoulders, it looked great either way, and Sander Cohen, who upon Andrew’s esteemed introduction gave Bill a crooked grin and muttered his appraisal of him to Andrew who almost seemed to blush, giving a throaty laugh instead. They were next to some scientist types and investors. Andrew was positioned in the middle, beaming stone faced pride out upon the crowd. It was a very suitable look for him, Bill had to force himself to look away. He spotted Elaine and Diane up front, Diane waving a gloved hand. Bill returned a twitch of the fingers, distracted as Andrew walked up to the microphone.

He took a breath, stunning where he stood. Bill hoped no one in the audience could see how he examined the way Andrew’s jacket ruffled and lay flat on his back, the tendons of his shoulders relaxing as he made himself at home.

“The Rapture dream,” he starts “lies in each of you. You are businessmen, tired of the whining government taking its place as your superior! You are artists, wanting to take your success into your own hands, damn the censors! You are scientists, straddled with morality, ethics limiting your work, where’s the progress!” He pauses, basking in his own words, how they radiate among the room. “In Rapture. Rapture was built to provide you an opportunity to seize your means, your success in her walls is your own and your failure is as well. True freedom! We need no gods or kings in Rapture! Here you shall be rewarded with the sweat of your brow. It is each of you who makes Rapture great, as it is each person on this stage. I founded Rapture with this singular goal, to make slaves of men no longer! So take the freedom I give to you, this oasis your own, fulfill the Rapture dream which brought you down here.” He nodded, moving away from the microphone slightly. Culpepper and Cohen sidled up to the microphone on the right side of the stage and broke into Rapture’s anthem: Rise Rapture Rise.

After the presentation was over Andrew was swamped with press and congratulations, Bill knew there was no way he could reach him in the crowd. Sullivan, Elaine, and Diane surrounded him. They chatted about the speech, how exciting the whole thing was, the Rapture Dream and all that. They eventually made their way out of the crowd, headed back for their apartments.

“We’ll see Mr. Ryan at council,” Sullivan assured “our first meeting is today.”

“You boys are going to do great.” Diane chimed, wrapping her hands around the small purse she carried. “I just can’t believe any of this.”

“I understand.” Elaine responded and Bill agreed.

The council chambers were gorgeous, a highly polished table with thick leather chairs seated around it, near 360° views into the ocean around them. Bill sat on Andrew’s right side, Sullivan on his left. The engineer Reuben Greavy sat beside Bill, than Kyburz, the Doctor Joseph Steinman, Sander Cohen, Anna Culpepper, and metro owner Anton Kinkaid sitting next to Sullivan. Andrew outlines the basis of the council and its purpose: it would guide Rapture away from crisis ensuring that business dealings did not get out of hand but were not meddled in. They would discuss how to update Rapture, how to keep her functioning smoothly, and restrictionless. If punishment needed dealt it would be dealt by the council. New chairs would be up for grabs yearly, and could be taken away the same times. This was not a job, Andrew reminded them, they could come to as many meetings as they wanted, and they could leave the council anytime they like. Freedom of movement, he put it. When the introductory meeting was over, no business on the table what with Rapture’s newness, Bill stayed behind.

“It’s grand.” He said

“What is Bill?”

“Rapture. Better than I could’ve imagined, these chambers aren’t half bad either.” Andrew beamed at him, set his hand on Bill’s shoulder. It was cold and dry, assertive and without callus. Bill was winded by it, knocked without breath and his hand went to grab about his ribs. It was too much. “I’m thinkin’ of starting up a pub, somewhere for the dock workers to catch a drink after work.”

“That is a wonderful idea, there’s a property in Neptune’s bounty for sale.” And just like that his bar, this frivolous idea he’d tossed about for fun while he showered and tied his shoes in the morning, it became prophecy. This offering of scrap knowledge, even the lightest bit from Andrew’s mouth enough to solidify Bill’s thoughts on the thing.

“I’ll look into it.” He pulls his coat of the back of his chair, slinging his arms into the purple-lined holes.

“What will you name it Bill?”

“I’m not sure,” he thought for a minute, letting it filter in his mind. “Something after my father.” Andrew gave his approval and, with that, Bill let himself leave.

Sullivan came with him to survey the property a few weeks later, he was at home in Neptune’s Bounty. The building itself was uninhabited, no tables or bottles just crisp wood floors. He could imagine it perfectly. Bill bought it the same day, spent his time in Hephaestus shirking work to find the perfect bar stools, in-Rapture liquor supply. Rapture didn’t need a contractor right now, the only problems with construction not being able to be on site, clogged toilets, temperature control issues. Rapture did need a bar, Bill knew it.

There were council meetings, dinners with Elaine, how Andrew’s jawline glowed in the red light of Hephestus when he told Bill about the progress in Rapture, and Ryan Industries, and there were every day new inventions and headlines: New Metro Stops Decrease Traffic, New Department Store on Main, Whose Fish is Finer: Faulton or Fontaine? Then there was the day The Fighting McDonagh’s Tavern opened. There was a large red ribbon stretched outside the front door, and though Bill wasn’t much for speeches he stood outside and said a word or two.

“This tavern was named for my father and it is in honor of him we drink.” He held up a glass he’d initially told himself he wouldn’t bring up to cut the ribbon. “Cheers to him and cheers to Rapture.” He got a spirited return from the crowd and he cut through the ribbon to invite them in. Bill stood by the windows, accepting congratulations as they came. Eventually he was greeted by a familiar face, beautiful in the green-blue light of the filtered sea. Diane clung onto his arm.

“It’s wonderful Bill.” Andrew said, giving him a raise of his glass. “A fine addition to Rapture.” The corners of his eyes tweaked up, a gentle remark of appreciation that caused Bill’s mouth to dry up, a chill slowly working its way up his arms through his palms, resting at the tops of his shoulders in bitter cold. Even his coat couldn’t cut through it.

Bill’s life was then fuller than it was before, the addition of his bar rounding out the corners of his life. He came in each morning before he went down to Hephestus. He would check the paperwork, stock, and till and contemplate his lot. He would hear the workers as he did his work and he appreciated how it kept him close to the pulse of the working man.

“Fontaine’s got me working near 50 this week”

“My fishery got bought up by Fontaine’s, least he gave me a job out of it.”

“Peachy, of all people, got promoted today. Horseshit ifin you ask me.”

“Got an order of bibles in today, heavy bastards them, I’ve got one for the missus since you said she was on the market.”

One day there was a new man at the bar, with thick black hair and a cigarette dangling out the side of his mouth like the smoke was nearly incidental to the cigarette experience. He ordered a glass of whiskey with a spot of ice and he wore a full suit. He didn’t look like a fisherman nor a smuggler. He sat next to Bill and puffed out little spots of smoke with every breath.

“Drinks on me,” He told the bartender when she delivered his whiskey, and the man turned his head towards Bill, giving him a cool look which said I don’t swing that way. “What brings you into these parts? Doesn’t look like your type of place.”

“Work for Fontaine.”

“What do you do?”

“Genetics”

“What for, bigger and better fish?” He gave a chuckle and was met with a cool stare.

“You would not understand.” He grimly sucked down the rest of his whiskey and got up from his stool, leaving behind a few dollars and his business card: Yi Suchong it said Geneticist, Fontaine Futuristics. It was news to Bill, the change from Fisheries to Futuristics, and it sat sternly in his stomach.

That very night he held Elaine’s arm in his as they spotted down main street. They passed dress shops and supermarkets, fine dining restaurants and art galleries. This portion of Rapture was Elaine’s favorite It’s just perfect, she’d said, like something out of a dream. Bill preferred the deeper parts but as he looked out the grand glass windows he found the appeal. There was a skate pressing its undersided face up against the glass near where it reached the floor and a little girl was pressing her face right back against it, laughing at how its mouth puffed. Elaine followed his gaze to the sight. Her steps slowed one at a time until they were near stopped in the middle of the walk.

“Bill.” She said, something serious but giddy in her tone. “Would you want to start a family?” He found her face and how it was brightened with nervousness and the idea.

“With you Elaine of course, there’s a jeweler's shop a few shops down, what do you say we look for a ring?” She gave his arm a squeeze, smiling wider than he’d thought possible. They quickly made their way to the store. An older man greeted them from behind the display cases. Elaine pointed to what she wanted, gold with modest diamonds but beautifully set, Oh Bill she would call look at this one and he would go and look and give his thought and the man behind the counter would surreptitiously flash Bill the price tag. Bill took one of the man’s business cards but left without buying anything, to maintain surprise, he told Elaine and her eyes shone. There was something in Bill’s ribs which, as he left the store with a ring in mind, stung at the organs of his stomach. He loved her, he did, and he wished and willed this hesitation away. Alas, it was stuck.

Bill brought up the engagement plans to Andrew as he drank with he and Sullivan following a council meeting. The meeting had concerned smuggling and a quickly forming impoverished population as the riches in Rapture separated. It was ensured that it was no concern, the great chain pulling in which direction it pleased.

“You will invite us to the wedding.” Sullivan had joked in response to the news.

“I’d expect you be in it given my brothers can’t attend.” Andrew gave an approving nod, but the gentle slope of his eyebrows conveyed something beyond appreciation, Bill couldn’t quite make it out and the fact that he couldn’t unsettled him some.
Bill proposed in front of their living room window. He’d made dinner reservations for the weekend at a fine restaurant with delicious champagne and strawberry desserts but as he worked at the kitchen table scratching letters of proper pipe heating to send to those who were letting their piping get below acceptable temperature Elaine called him into the living room.

“Bill look!” she whispered reverently as if the creatures out the window could hear her. There was a great sperm whale, half the size of the buildings, eclipsing swaths of windows to grab great mouthfuls of squid from the waters. It twisted beneath Rapture’s walkways. It left a red bloom as it returned upwards, and Elaine put an arm around Bill’s shoulders, giving him a warming squeeze. She didn’t look away from the flipping tail of the whale as Bill slipped from her grasp, down onto one knee, digging into the pocket of his coat. The noise of slacks on carpet disturbed her, a gasp escaping her.

“Oh Bill!” She said “Oh I’d expected I’d be better dressed!” she palmed at the cotton of her dress, a purple thing with a collar that often made itself lopsided. “I’d expected more formality” her smiling deceiving her “I’d expected you’d shave.” He began to laugh, and then she did, she stuck her hands into his armpits, pulling him up to kiss and laugh and give out a half breathed “Yes!” and he did not actually get ring onto finger until several minutes later. He told her about the meal he’d planned and all the pomp and circumstance. She agreed to fulfill the reservation but she told him he couldn’t have proposed to her a better way.

They left for their dinner some days later, dressed in their finest and Elaine wearing the perfume Bill had bought for her after their move to Rapture.

“Oh Elaine!” they heard as they shut their door, “Elaine Elaine you must see this!” Diane came rushing over, Andrew standing at the door to their apartment, working the key into the lock. She held out her left hand, a garish engagement ring balanced there. “Isn’t it lovely! You’re the first to know, it’s just beautiful isn’t it!” Elaine gave her congratulations, tucking her left hand into Bill’s right, burying her own ring into his palm.

“Gorgeous!” She complimented.

“Congratulations Mr. Ryan, Diane.” Andrew gave a nod and his key finally caught in the lock and he slunk his way inside.

Chapter Text

There was no chapel in Rapture for the nuptials, but it was an unconventional ceremony to be sure. The wedding party was small, two bridesmaids and two groomsmen. Andrew and Sullivan wore blue boutonnieres and stood beside Bill as he watched Elaine make her way down the aisle. Her skirt billowed out at her waist in striking but modest layers and hit the floor at the perfect length. It rounded above her chest in a heart, making her shoulders look the perfect shape. Bill had to clench his hand tight behind his back to keep his watering eyes from overflowing. She came to stand by Diane and a woman from the law firm she had begun to work at. They were beautiful in their peach colored gowns. Bill turned to Andrew for the rings and the way he dropped them cooly into his palm, no contact to the motion, made Bill linger under Andrew’s gaze. He turned back to his wife to be and the warmth of her eyes in his made him smile again. He was asked if he would take her to be his wife and responded

“I do.” and it came out squeaky and hoarse from his throat, he meant it though. Elaine was asked the same question and responded softly with adoration

“I do.” and they gave each other a kiss, Bill wholly aware of the cool metal band on his finger. It wouldn’t warm to his skin. The guests were invited to a reception at the Kashmir and Elaine and Bill stood by the entrance accepting congratulations and cards and gifts. Faces blurred together: neighbors, coworkers, friends. Bill then held Elaine close to him and twirled her on the dance floor, round in circles tucked close in his arms. The cake and the drinks and the atmosphere was beautiful. Bill was not sure he saw Andrew’s face in the crowd and by the time the traditions were over and it was simply he and Elaine enjoying a drink with friends if Andrew had been there at all he had left. The thing in Bill’s ribs twirled and stung, hard enough that he had to clutch his arm around his midsection for a short while.

“Alright dear?” Elaine questioned.

“Too much cake and too much to drink” he laughed.

“Shall we head home?”

“Let’s.”

In Rapture work never ceased and there was nowhere to honeymoon anyway. So, the next day Bill was back to work in Hephestus.

“Leaks!” Kyburz, with his tough Australian accent, stormed into Bill’s office. “Leaks, McDonagh, in Medical.”

“This is my problem?”

“It damn well is, you’d better send some messages to warm those pipes. And if that don’t work you’d better march yourself down there and reprimand them.” Bill rubbed his fingertips against his temples.

“This isn’t my jurisdiction Kyburz.”

“General Contractor no?”

“Yes, last I figured that meant you weren’t my boss.”

“Well this is general contracting McDonagh, do something about it.” He recorded his messages, sent letters and audio diaries to every business owner in Medical and noted that these leaks were more of a problem. He would bring it up during Council, he added it to his list along with smuggling activity he’d witnessed at the bar, the growing and growing poverty gap. He hoped they had enough time to cover it all.

Council was not well attended, but there was a new face, a woman with a gray cardigan and tangled hair. She introduced herself in a thick german accent as

“Brigid Tenenbaum. I am working with Fontaine.” Bill noted her, wondered if she and the scientist from before were related. The question of what Fontaine was doing rattled in the back of his mind but he paid it no matter. He was distracted by Andrew’s cool distance, slowly returning to its normal pace. Bill did not know what had thrown a wrench into it but was glad it was working itself out.

Time passed and leaks worsened and Bill was enjoying married life, hoping for a baby. This was his normal: working, Council, the tavern, his home with Elaine, Bill was fulfilling his Rapture dream. This was on and on for months, happily. Leaks and drinks with Andrew as he disappeared more and more into his office, the rare days with Elaine where neither of them worked. It was this, this before, until a night when Andrew Ryan came knocking on his apartment door.

“Bill.” He said, assertive, eyes gleaming out beyond where Bill stood, it was the same as Bill remembered and part of that was comforting and part of that caused Bill’s thing in his ribs to shudder and slide. He held up a poster. Plasmids it said Evolve Today! A Demonstration by Fontaine Futuristics with dates and locations listed below it. Andrew invited himself in, sitting himself at Bill’s kitchen table. “Do you know what this is?”

“A… new product Mr. Ryan.”

“Andrew,” he corrected, but it was rushed and stern “I’d heard of this, just whispers and rumors, Fontaine has found a way to change the genome Bill. The very fabric of humanity altered. Shapeshifting and rearranging, Bill!” He proclaimed as if he had made the discovery himself. “This is going to change Rapture.”

“You saying we ought to go to this presentation then?” Andrew nodded, saying nothing beyond that, sitting and stirring in his emotions about the prospect. Bill tapped his fingers on the counter, ashamed he couldn’t comprehend Andrew’s reaction, their differences in thought creating a thick smoke of tension. “Can I offer you a drink Andrew?”

“Oh no, I must be heading to Hephestus, some work to be done.”

“It’s late.” Andrew got up from his chair, moving to the door.

“It’s quite alright bill, I’ll see you at the Demonstration.” The door shut and Bill was left with the chill of an empty home, save for his wife sleeping in the next room.

The demonstration was a crowded affair, every journalist and scientist and curious citizen crowded around the observation area. Andrew and Bill were close to the front, right behind the squatting cameramen. A fidgety man stood in the center of the deck flanked by Brigid Tenenbaum and Yi Suchong, up front stood Frank Fontaine himself.

“Welcome!” He said, a garish doctored smile on his face. He had a bit of a gut and a shining hairless head. “What you are about to see is a wonder of science ladies and gentleman, DNA itself rearranged. Dr. Suchong over there is holding a vile full of ADAM, the incredible substance found out in the depth of the ocean it holds the ability to inflict this man with great power. However, before we get too it we must note that ADAM on its own is ineffective, shifts up the genome but it stops there. In Dr. Tenenbaum’s hand is a vile of EVE, the bullets to ADAM’s gun. We here at Fontaine Futuristics have harnessed these substances for specific purpose, made them into Plasmids. What we’ve got for you today is a little sample of our plasmid Electro Bolt. So enough with the talking, let’s get to the light show.” Suchong walked up to the man, holding the skin of his bicep taut and plunging the glowing needle into his arm. As he depressed the plunger the man began to twitch and groan, his veins sitting bright beneath his skin boiling and glowing the path of the plasmid. He let out a painful moan and Fontaine leaned into the microphone.

“Pain’s a little price to pay for a fist fulla power worry not.” Once the man was calming down, taking deep breaths and panting a little Tenenbaum walked up to his other arm, jabbing her needle into him. This one left him with a gentle jerk, seemingly much less painful. The man raised his arms and out shot lightning. The overhead lights sparked and crackled and shone brighter than they had the moment before. The man aimed his hand at a large prop that said Electro Bolt! In happy letters and the whole thing lit up in a glorious display. Some of the crowd began to clap, others gasped and clutched their coats against their chests. Fontaine came forward for a final word.

“Electro Bolt is now available in Fontaine Futuristics stores, with more plasmids to follow.” He winked and stood back on the stage, giving a wave as Tenenbaum and Suchong shuffled off. Andrew put his hand on Bill’s arm. The contact made Bill shudder all over, and he decided to write it off as a jolt of fear from the demonstration.

“My g-d” he said and he felt Andrew shake his head.

Chapter Text

The council meeting which followed a few days after the plasmid demonstration was quiet and ill attended. There was Bill, there was Andrew, and there was Anton Kinkaide rubbing his nail up against the wood of the table. Sullivan had an interrogation, Sander a performance, Steinman a surgery, there were all number of excuses. Andrew stood in front of Bill and of Anton, his jaw was set and there was something behind his eyes that was still unfamiliar to Bill. It made him want to hold his cheeks in his hands, to warm his skin with his hands and trace the harsh cut stubble along his jaw. Andrew was a man who, typically, shaved twice a day, the stubble was unfamiliar to Bill.

“Rapture security has decided on hanging as a punishment for smuggling.”

“What!” Bill immediately responded, Anton’s head nodding uncaring.

“It’s best for Rapture’s cause, examples must be made and Rapture’s few laws upheld.”

“This is ridiculous! Can’t go stringing people up for bolstering business! I’m not saying it’s right but I’m saying a hefty fine might be more effective.”

“Nooses have been arranged in Apollo Square-”

“This’ll just cause more unrest and will give Rapture’s law a bad name! You really think hanging people for getting a bible down here is any way to enact-”

“Bill.” Andrew barked, stern and irritated. He usually appreciated Bill’s input. The set of his jaw proved he’d made up his mind though. Bill got up from his chair.

“Mr. Kinkaide, Mr. Ryan, I’ll be in my pub if you need me.” He pushed open the door, heard Andrew’s stern but hopeful,

“Bill?” He ignored it, stomped down to Neptune’s Bounty, into the safe embrace of The Fighting McDonagh.

More plasmids entered the market: Incinerate, Winter Blast, Telekinesis, Insect Swarm. And than, Fontaine began rolling out charitable efforts: Fontaine’s Home for the Poor, The Little Sister’s Orphanage. There were breadlines and fists full of fire on every corner. Bill never could have envisioned this, his spine stiffening each night in his sleep, stress corroding his bones. Alongside all of this the leaks, the leaks, the leaks. Every morning Bill was bombarded with complaints: wet patients in Medical, salt water soaking the plants of Arcadia, frozen pipelines in Fort Frolic. Elaine tried each morning to talk light and beautiful to him, her stomach pushing itself outward farther every day, even the promise of child couldn’t alleviate his horror at Rapture’s sinking. Then, an even larger hay stack on a camels broken back, a pregnant Elaine and a stress addled Bill were walking through main street. Outside the window was a groan, like a whale song, bringing back hopeful memories of their engagement. Instead of a great thrashing tail stood a mix between a bathysphere and a scuba diving man. It pounded rivets into a new support panel on the wall of the building.

“Geez” Elaine said “isn’t that something.” And Bill could only stare and stare, Rapture was escaping him. On it went like this plasmids becoming commonplace, Fontaine’s power growing, the shape of humanity shifting around him. Then there was the first mention of a word which made Bill’s blood fail.

“Splicers” Sullivan passed about a photo during a council meeting. “ADAM junkies, they’re powerful. We’re recommending each of you acquire a handgun, for safety, and contact security with any helpful tips of people over-splicing.” The photo reached Bill’s hand: a woman with great bulging knots of skin poking from odd angles on her body, her face covered with a mask, fire spinning from her hands. It terrified him. Andrew thanked Sullivan for his information.

“Rapture is changing, we must change with her.” He looked about the room, noting certain absences. “Fontaine Futuristics has been accused of foul play in its orphanages. Girls gone missing, girls with odd colored skin, these sorts of things. We’re planning a raid on Fontaine Futuristics headquarters.”

“The girls aren’t in the headquarters, why aren’t we raiding an orphanage?” Bill spoke up, a more and more common experience in these meetings.

“We’re hoping to find proof of illegality in Fontaine’s files and practices, then we can stop the orphan mistreatment.”

“But mistreatment in the orphanage doesn’t provide an excuse to look for smuggling or malpractice in Fontaine Futuristics’ other ventures.” Andrew shot him a look which said My Mind is Made, Bill. and Bill, knowing he had a favor to ask Andrew after the meeting, spoke up no further.

“Mr. Ryan.” He approached him after the meeting had ended and the other Council members had found their way out of the chambers. “Elaine is going to burst any day now, she asked me to invite you and your betrothed over to our place for dinner tonight. Tell me you’ll come?” Andrew looked at him, very plainly examining Bill’s face, the new wrinkles which had formed with the time squinting at Ryan Industries’ desks. The focus of Andrew again, after so long, being concentrated on Bill’s face made his blood run rampant, hoping to provide heat to every cooling centimeter of him. Andrew’s eyes had that effect, especially above those cheeks and the hollows of his jaw. He felt small to Bill in that moment, ever affecting but true in his stature. It made him more beautiful to see him as someone more human than his larger than life sized image he carried as a smoke-screen in front of him.

“We will.” He promised, moving to the door and holding it open for Bill. “Six?”

“That works wonderfully, Mr. Ryan it’ll be a pleasure to have you.”

“Andrew” he said and Bill wondered if he meant it.

Bill and Elaine spent the next few hours cleaning. They dusted knick knacks they hadn’t touched since they’d moved down, shifted wedding photos to look just so, vacuumed under each chair and table and sofa, their apartment had never looked finer. They then took to the kitchen chopping vegetables, boiling pasta, checking and rechecking flavors and spices. It had to be fine, it had to be great, and it had to be perfect, the importance of the visit weighing heavily on the couple. Bill helped Elaine shimmy into her nicest dress that fit and then sat her on the couch to elevate her swollen feet while Bill finished the meal. There was a knock on the door.

Diane was gorgeous in a deep green gown, her hair springing in beautiful curls about her neck, accompanying a necklace of pearls, her engagement ring looked lonely on her finger. Andrew wore a coat that made Bill’s ribs feel like they could suffocate him, it fit Andrew so well. It made a sharp cut of his waistline, tucked into it the perfect amount, framing his legs very nicely in his suit slacks. His tie leaned ever the slightest angle to the left and it made Bill want to reach up and adjust it himself. He almost did. However, the slight imperfection in Andrew’s presentation made Bill all the happier, shivering with the cold hallway breeze. Andrew held a nice bottle of red wine.

“Come in Come in!” Elaine called, toddling her way off of the couch. “Diane, Andrew so lovely to see you, my lord that necklace Diane, where did you get it?” They entered the apartment and even though the door clicked closed Bill’s shiver was left in his bones, never would he be warm enough. He twisted the metal of his wedding band on his finger, found himself looking at Andrew again as Diane went to greet his wife.

“It’s going to be a girl,” he told him. “The Doctor assures it.”

“That is wonderful for you Bill.” and he cut it off there.

They ate delicious pasta with delicious sauce and veggies, it was quite nice with fresh produce from Arcadia’s market. After dinner Diane asked to see their wedding album and Elaine ushered her to the living room to show her.

“A drink Mr. Ryan?” It was surreal to Bill, seeing Andrew in his kitchen. It was lovely to him.

“Andrew, and please.” Bill got up from his chair, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a few cubes of ice. He wanted to ask about Andrew’s engagement, he didn’t, something better held the question in his chest. The ice cubes plinked into the bottom of the glass with a bouncy spring to them.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in this apartment Andrew.” He pours a suitable drink for each of them, and then a drop or so more.

“Not since I showed you the place, you Sullivan and I.”

“I remember the day.” He smiled to himself and then turned around, same-faced as ever, and handed Andrew his drink. “There was a group of jellyfish right out there.” He pointed, and Andrew’s face twisted into a curious look, almost appreciative, almost sorry.

“You recall that?”

“I do. I’ll never forget my first glimpses of Rapture. Not till the day I die.” Andrew looked straight at Bill, and reached his hand across the table. He took Bill’s hand off of his drink's glass with the weight of his fingers upon Bill’s knuckles and he traced the back of his hand with his nails. He bumped awkwardly over Bill’s wedding band. Andrew’s eyes looked dark and wetted, and not looking away from Bill’s eyes he twisted his hand to be palm up, resting his palm atop Bill’s. There was coolness in the kitchen, words didn’t need to be said and Bill began to quiver, gently wrapping his fingers around the tendons in Andrew’s wrist as though they would break away from him, fragile moment reaffirmed in strong physicality. He gripped him tight for a second and Andrew, instead of wincing, left his wrist relaxed in Bill’s hand. His eyes were boring themselves into the ocular lobe of Bill’s brain. Bill began to release his grip and Andrew’s fingers formed a cage around Bill’s arm, trapping him in the moment against the wood. It hurt, not physically, but somewhere in Bill’s chest an insufferable cold spreading itself against the delicate flesh of his ribs and the bones poking their way into the fragility. It was far too intense, he felt a small drop of salt water rolling down his face. He could feel more incoming, more building their way from inside him where they had been trapped for years and years before rapture before Ryan Industries when he was just a plumber in Andrew’s office being told his work was wonderful.

Diane and Elaine laughed at something in the other room, the tinkling beautiful laughter of women in love. Bill tore his arm and hand back from Andrew’s grasp. He reached his fingers up to his face, looking away from Andrew and scrubbing any remnant of water from his face. He shot out of his chair and walked briskly into the living room where his very pregnant wife sat next to Andrew’s Fiance. Elaine held up a photo to him of the four of them at their wedding.

“Oh don’t we all look lovely?” She asked and Bill, with his entire body, agreed.

Chapter Text

The raid on Fontaine’s had gone violent. Of course it had. Sullivan reported to the council what smugglers had died and what security had. It was about even and it made Bill angry, all of it. They had found evidence of smuggling and secured ADAM for testing and he wondered if any of it was in response to the mistreatment of those girls. Bill left the council early that day.

“The wife has a doctors appointment, may be the day she pops.” And he was wished good luck and safety. The doctor was right and Bill held his wife’s hand until he could hold his daughter in his arms and he let out tears as he cradled them both to his chest.

“She’s wonderful Elaine.” He told her, kissing her sweating forehead “Well done.” and he held her hand as she was wheeled off to recovery and their baby was taken to be weighed and monitored. Bill sat in the waiting room of the maternity ward wringing his hands and contemplating how his life had suddenly shifted. There was this new portion of him breathing yards and yards away. He felt himself pulled in dozens of directions with this new strong cord driving him to his child. It was overwhelming. As soon as he was allowed to see his wife he curled into the chair beside her rest bed, holding her hand as she drifted to sleep again. Their daughter was wheeled into the room and everything shrunk to the three of them.

In Rapture paternity leave was unheard of and Bill was back to work within the week. It was a new sensation, being a father at work. There was a congratulatory note on his desk written in familiar loops and lines Congratulations on the Birth of Your Child. It said -Andrew Ryan. Bill held it between his fingers and found that some of the chill those words would have brought him had worn away into the paper. It wasn’t the same, the stabbing in his ribs, it was quieted by a stronger pull. He thanked Andrew when he saw him in the hall anyway. Stared at the small shaving cut on his jaw. Bill assured him he would attend the council still and Andrew told him of the newest raid on Fontaine’s, planned for the next evening. It didn’t sit right with Bill but it didn’t matter. No overtime for him anymore. He rushed right to his apartment, held his daughter and changed her diaper and let his wife rest as he made her dinner and stayed up late with the baby. It was a wonder to hold her. Cradling a gentle breathing thing in his arms, gorgeous above all else.

The raid on Fontaine was bloodier than the rest, Fontaine himself murdered in a hail of bullets. There was something about it that turned the thing in his ribs far more unpleasant than before. He walked to the council meeting with stiff legs, hands clenched into tight knit fists by his side. There was much news for this meeting.

“Before we begin,” Andrew’s voice was quiet in his throat “a moment of silence for our esteemed head of security, Sullivan was found in his apartment,” he had to clear his throat as it became hoarser during his speaking. His voice came back with the same gravitas it held during presentations, speeches. “A shot through the head.” There was silence in the room and Bill was hardly given a second to process the death of a close companion before Andrew came back with the same intensity.

“With Fontaine’s passing comes many questions, what shall be done with the assets of Fontaine Futuristics.”

“Did the man have a will and testament” Anton asked.

“Not that was recovered. Upon the failure to produce one the assets shall be transferred to Ryan Industries.”

“What!?”

“Pardon Bill?”

“Shouldn’t the assets be auctioned off or distributed by the next in command. Why would Ryan Industries have claim to any of them?!” Bill was making a scene but an angry heat was tickling the back of this neck. “Or Mr. Ryan at least hand it over to the rebellion and Atlas as a peace offering! This is the worst possible move!” Andrew looked at him with conviction in his eyes and Bill wished he’d seen something in him that was apologetic or wavering. But he didn’t, Andrew was certain of himself. This ripped Bill to shreds.

“This is the best possible option for Rapture,” Andrew began to explain. “Fontaine Futuristics, as acquired by Ryan Industries, will improve the experience of the populous. Can’t you see what is best for Rapture’s people.” Bill stood abruptly from his chair, surprising himself and Andrew. He looked at Bill as though he had just been slapped. Bill thought it suited him well. He stormed out of the council chambers, fists turned into tight little balls at his side. He couldn’t believe it, he’d expected better for Rapture, he wondered when he became so naive about Andrew’s goals. His eyes stung as he stood on the metro home. Words spilled about his brain, tickling each corner of his head as he tried to find what he could say to Andrew. There was almost nothing he could think of.

When he arrived home Elaine was sitting on the couch with their sleeping child and Bill stopped to admire them and share a kiss with his wife.

“How was the council?” She whispered, rubbing her thumb on his knuckles. Bill felt the need to pull away but he kept himself there, her hand was like a furnace on his skin, blazing the brand of her fingertips into his skin. It was almost too much for him.

“Rapture’s changed, Elaine, I barely recognize her.” She nodded like she understood and squeezed his hand, finally letting go. Bill receded to his office. He poured over his stationary. Mr. Ryan he started Andrew he tried again, maybe Dear Andrew, or. Nothing felt right.

Bill slept his night at his deck.

There was a funeral for Fontaine, a riot in Apollo Square, headlines of missing girls and lumbering beasts with them by their side, life in Rapture moved on. Bill stayed holed in his apartment. He held his daughter’s hand as she walked around their apartment, made Elaine breakfast and dinner, let his beard grow past the length he usually held it. Every night he would retreat into his office and stare at his blank stationary. There were knocks on the door when Elaine was at work occasionally, letters written from Ryan Industries management and Bill never opened them to find if it was Andrew himself. The thing in Bill’s ribs grew spines, a constant sawing motion against his bone. It felt as though his ribcage was separating, leaving his organs unprotected and vulnerable. It was a horrible feeling. At night tears would occasionally drip themselves down his cheeks, only sometimes, and they would quickly be wiped away.

Elaine, busy with work and mothering, noticed the change in Bill. She didn’t know what she could do and, in the face of all of the change throughout Rapture, kept her head down. Denial gripped her tightly. Their daughter tried to reach him. One night she came knocking on his office door, holding her stuffed bear in her arms. As Bill held her tight in his office chair he realized what needed to be done. For his daughter. For Rapture.

Bill lead himself down the long entryway to Andrew’s office. The steps of his shoes on the cool floor were familiar and sounded loudly in the empty room. There were five corpses on the walls, assassins, an example Andrew had one day explained to him. Bill looked at the sixth pillar and curled an arm around his waist. It isn’t meant for him, he assured himself of this. He wasn’t an assassin. Bill was there with a pistol in his hand and a deep stabbing in his ribs and he was never an assassin. This office belonged to his friend, his boss, his world at this point and several before.

The door before him was thick and heavy and the knob was stiff and unyielding. Bill clenched his hand around it testing the strength of his grip and his will. The door opened more easily than he would have liked. There was Andrew, sitting at his desk. His hand was tight in his gelled hair and his other was holding a pen, his elbow leaned on the table as he twirled the utensil. He looked tense, it made Bill ache for him. His eyes shifted up to Bill and the brightness in them was too intense for Bill, he shifted his whole head away so he wasn’t forced to confront it.

“Bill!” Andrew said happily, his posture straightening and the pen dropping uselessly onto his desk. “It has been a minute, you’ve left me to these hard times, but I could use your advice.” He rotates his wrist at Bill, beckoning him to his place at the desk. When Bill does not move his gaze shifts.

“Bill?” Andrew questions, studying his body. Bill noticed the moment his eyes landed upon the pistol in his hand. Andrew’s eyes set into their sockets, stern and understanding. There was no longer a friend before him, he was no longer the person either of them had known.

The thing in Bill’s rib shifted and slid and he finally realized what it was. Tears formed, threatening to overflow over the lip of eyelid. Andrew hasn’t moved and Bill watches the bob of his jaw as he swallows. Bill wants to kiss him and he doesn’t want to kill him. He wondered if he ever could have, if something, long ago, could have changed and they never would have been in this position. Bill didn’t shake, didn’t catch a chill, he just spilled salt water tears, one after the other. He dried his eyes with the knuckles of his pistol-wielding hand and Andrew sat in front of him, gorgeous and precious and something to be cherished. The thing in Bill’s rib found purchase and the pain was so great and so extreme it almost caused him to double. Bill, looking at the confusion in Andrew’s eyes, wanted to kiss his questioning lips, run his hands along the hollows of his cheeks onto the strength of his jaw, to feel Andrew as a man. Not a great man, a man, just that. He was so beautiful, Bill loved him.

Bill raised the pistol in his hand, a tremor in his lungs. He’d thought Rapture would have killed Andrew before he did.

“I’m sorry Mr. Ryan .” Bill said, and Bill meant it, and Bill’s lifeless body hit the floor before he could ever hope to pull the trigger. Defense turrets, Andrew had never thought he’d use them like this. It drove disgust up his throat and he, quietly, vomited into the trash can beside his desk and pretended that’s what caused the tears.